


The Vivisection Mambo

by Lise



Series: Remember This Cold [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (fantasies of), Background Relationships, Creepy, Gen, Horror, Obsession, POV Outsider, Vivisection, Voyeurism, it's sexual but there's no sex, or rather it's erotic but there's no sex, the tag is Creeper von Doom for a reason, this is not a very nice fic but I had a lot of fun, this is who I am okay I'm sorry, well been meaning to write this one for a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Loki hadn't come to him, Victor would have found a way to Loki. He is a quarry too tempting to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vivisection Mambo

**Author's Note:**

> I've been promising for a long time to write a Doom POV fic in this verse, to indulge my fascination with him and his creepy fascination with Loki. And so I did it! And it is...creepy. Seriously, I had a lot of fun with indulging my desire to make this fic weird and creepy and possibly a little perverse. So, like...be warned. Warnings for gory fantasies, mostly, and Doom's weird brain. (Which...it's kind of fun to write from his point of view, who knew. I guess I probably could have figured that.)
> 
> ANYWAY. This fic is set spanning the period of time in Remember This Cold from somewhere mid "the fog won't lift in your town" to "the sun no longer shines on your side". That's not...strictly necessary reading, but if you want to know more about what Loki's doing, that's where he is. 
> 
> With thanks to my [ever patient beta](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), and everyone on my Tumblr who reassured me that they were interested in this thing, it wasn't just me. Even though had it been just me I probably would've written this thing anyway. WELP.
> 
> I leave you with [this panel](https://p.dreamwidth.org/a963312865ee/-/i253.photobucket.com/albums/hh78/ColonelGreen/Thor4-8.jpg) as artwork for the fic. You’re welcome.

Loki came to him.

Victor could not have planned it better with any of the lures he had considered ever since first seeing the grainy, fragmentary footage from Stuttgart.  He had watched the illusions and fire and sheer raw _power_ and thought _I want that._

But Loki came to him. Waltzed through the six layers of security surrounding his inner sanctum and stood before Victor and smiled with all his teeth. “I believe,” he said, voice cultured and polite with just a faint undercurrent of danger, “that we may be able to help one another.”

It was, Victor thought, as though the greatest of tigers was crouched in front of the hunter, tail lashing. As though a thousand dreams had woken to life, asking after his desires.

As though a being of magic and power stood before Victor von Doom and said _let me make you an offer._

Victor was grateful that he managed to mask the shaking of his hands by folding them together. Grateful, too, that the mask hid the look on his face.

“Tell me more,” was all he said.

* * *

“You want to study me,” Loki said. The distaste in his voice was unmistakable.

“Yes,” Victor said, not bothering to modulate it. “I know I have much to learn in the magical arts, and I am curious about other of your properties as well. Doom would ask for the sharing of your knowledge in exchange for the sharing of our home.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “I do not particularly savor the idea of being your experiment.”

It was like a seduction, Victor thought. Slow and careful. “Do not think of it in such terms. I am curious. That is all. Surely you have curiosities of your own. Perhaps some I might help assuage.”

Loki looked at him for a long time. Victor waited. To push too hard too quickly would be a grave error, and one that might have…unpleasant consequences.

At length, Loki nodded. “You may…request my cooperation in investigating these _curiosities_ of yours,” he said, not quite cold. “But I would reserve the right to refuse: not all, but some. My privacy – and, yes, my secrets – are precious.” His eyes sharpened. “As I suspect you understand.”

Victor wondered what Loki knew, or suspected, about his secrets. He decided it did not matter. “Certainly,” he said, though one of his fists clenched. “I would not wish to impose or inconvenience you.”

Loki’s smile was slow, just barely this side of mocking. “Oh, I am sure you would not.”

* * *

Loki was an impeccable guest. Unfailingly polite, a good conversationalist, careful not to cause difficulty for Victor in any way.

And behind the veneer Victor could _sense_ his disdain, his mockery, his just veiled scorn for Victor’s work. He showed Loki his laboratory and he said “very interesting,” the way an indulgent parent might respond to their child’s artwork. The mask kept Victor from having to keep his face still, but he did have to fight not to clench his fists in anger.

 _Just wait,_ he thought. _You may claim to be a god, but I am more than that._

“What do you want, Victor?” Loki asked over dinner, leaning forward with a very faint smile dancing on his lips. “Is it power? Knowledge? Immortality? Godhood?”

“Why limit myself to just one?” Victor asked. Loki laughed.

“I do love a man with confidence,” he said, giving him one of his sweeping, assessing looks. “Though some might call it arrogance.”

“It would seem hypocritical for you to object to arrogance,” Victor said. Loki laughed again, seeming genuinely amused, and raised his glass in Victor’s direction.

“Indeed it might. Do you disapprove, King Victor von Doom?”

“I am no king,” Victor said coolly. He sat back, as though considering Loki’s question. “No,” he said after a moment. “I do not. Arrogance is only arrogance if it is unearned. And you and I…I think we have earned our pride.”

Loki’s lips curved, eyes gleaming. “How you flatter me.”

“Not in the least,” Victor said smoothly. “I would not have such interest in you if you were not…extraordinary.”

“Why, Victor,” Loki said, sitting back, wine glass held loosely between his fingers. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

He considered the idea, for a moment. It might make things easier, though somehow he did not think Loki was the sort to lower his guard even in the throes of passion, and he was not inclined to submit himself to the degradation. Victor felt his lips twitch behind the mask. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by seduction,” he said.

Loki’s eyes glittered. “If you asked very nicely I might let you bite hard enough to taste my blood,” he said, smile turning sharp. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? A few drops of a god’s ichor on your tongue. Who knows what it might do to you?”

Victor felt himself shiver, very slightly, heat pooling in his stomach. He imagined it, pinning Loki to the wall and slicing into a vein. He imagined it would taste like magic felt. Victor kept himself still with an effort. “A curious notion,” he said. Loki smirked at him and drained his glass.

“Isn’t it?” He said. “But I do not think you have been _that_ good yet. If you will excuse me.” He stood, sauntering out. Victor watched him go, looking at the empty glass.

Not even a slight reaction, he thought. A half dose of a potent neurotoxin, and Loki had not even blinked. It was hard to say if he had noticed its presence or not. He would have to put that down in his notes.

His heart was racing, Victor realized. As it seldom did.

Behind the mask, he let himself smile.

* * *

Loki agreed to a skin sample and a cheek swab, but he drew the line at blood. “No,” he said, when Victor asked, already thinking ahead to sequencing DNA, picking apart every component piece he could claim and searching for the key he needed. Already wondering if he could begin creating viable clones: that would certainly make things easier. But Loki’s answer stopped him.

“No?” He echoed. Loki looked at him, expression bland, almost bored. As though this were all a trial, and one beneath him. It made Victor itch.

“No,” Loki repeated. He shrugged back into his shirt that he had shed to allow Victor to listen to his heart and lungs (removal had not been strictly necessary, but Victor had not objected). “I will permit most other things. But I learned too many times as a _seiðmadr_ that there are too many unpleasant things that can be done with even a small quantity of blood.” Loki smiled coldly, in a way that did not touch his eyes. “And fond as I am of you, Victor, I am afraid I do not trust you in the least.”

“What cause have I given you to doubt me?” Victor asked, and Loki raised his eyebrows, lips curling as though the question was funny.

“You and I may be many things, Victor,” he said, “but trustworthy is not one of them.” Loki rolled down his sleeves, the motion drawing attention to the pale underside of his arms, the tracery of blue veins under the skin. Victor wondered if he was being teased.

“Very well,” Victor grated out, at length. “Though I remind you that you offered cooperation in exchange for my hospitality.”

“And I told you that I maintained the right to refuse,” Loki said, still smiling. “I trust you respect that, still?”

Victor’s stomach felt sour. He did not have the power to overcome Loki yet, and he knew it. Resented it, but knew it. _Be patient,_ he reminded himself. _Bide your time._ He had agreed to this bargain, true, but oh, he did not doubt that his time would come. Loki was Loki. Sooner or later he would betray Victor, and then their deal would be off.

By then, Victor would be ready to take advantage of it.

* * *

He began to keep track of Loki’s comings and goings. They were relatively frequent and irregular, and after one query met with a raised eyebrow and a faintly scornful, “I do not see that it is any of your business, my _dear_ Victor,” he did not ask again. Simply watched, puzzling over how Loki occupied himself.

Victor did not miss him when he left. He had his own work to tend to and his own plans to nurture. Loki remained…a side project, still. It made him smile, faintly, imagining how his guest would react to the designation. Indignant, without a doubt. He wondered if he could leverage that to gain anything.

Still, he was curious what Loki did with his time away. He entertained the idea that perhaps he kept a human lover, somewhere, but the idea of Loki coupling with some ordinary mortal, considering his copious disdain for all things Earthly (or Midgardian, as he insisted on calling it) was nearly laughable.

He discarded another dish of unsuccessful growth with a frustrated sigh. His slow and irregular progress was maddening. He could feel the answer, almost _taste_ it, and yet it eluded him.

Exiting his laboratory in a foul mood, Victor found Loki waiting just outside, a too innocent smile blooming on his lips. “Ah, Victor,” he said lightly. “You look displeased. Something not working as you would like?”

“Experimentation takes time,” he said flatly. Loki was baiting him. Victor was sore tempted to respond.

“I am sure it does,” Loki said, with the air of soothing a fractious child. “With what are you experimenting? Perhaps I might offer fresh eyes.” Something about his smile made Victor think Loki knew exactly what he was trying to do. Perhaps was even engineering his failures. His right hand curled into a fist.

“You have your secrets,” he said. “I have mine.”

“Very well, Doctor,” Loki said. “I shall not pry. Perhaps I shall simply assume you are engineering yourself a…companion, down in these depths. I must warn you such things rarely work out well.”

“Do not be insulting,” Victor said. Loki laughed, tossing his head back so he could see the fine tracery of blue veins on his delicate throat. His fingers itched and he pulled his eyes away, irritated with himself.

* * *

Loki returned from one of his excursions in a poor temper, his hands and face speckled with blood, on the same day Victor finally saw some success in his progress. He stalked into one of Victor’s sitting rooms muttering in a language Victor could not recognize, and flung himself into one of the chairs apparently careless of stains.

“Mortals die too quickly,” he said eventually, apparently responding to Victor’s stare. “It takes all the satisfaction out of it.”

“I take it someone displeased you,” Victor said, dispassionate. By the way Loki scowled, he thought he had been expecting shock, or perhaps disgust. Two things of little use to Victor von Doom.

“Yes,” Loki said, sounding decidedly disgruntled. “Someone rather did.” He paused, and then glanced toward Victor. “A mortal mage, actually. I considered bringing him to you as a gift. I imagine you could make a study of him.”

Victor steepled his hands. “I already know how the magic humanity can wield works.”

“No,” Loki said. “You do not.”

Victor recoiled, stung by that simple denial. Not even laden with scorn or superiority, simply a statement of fact. “Do you care to explain that?” He demanded, after a moment. “I have spent years of study on that question. Mastered the arts of magic for myself.”

“My  _dear_ Victor,” Loki said, turning his head and giving him a faint and condescending smile. “What you have done remains…impressive, for a mortal. But you are still little more than a child in this study.” 

“A child,” Doom said flatly. Again, it was a relief that his mask did not force him to keep his expression controlled, as he could not keep his mouth from contorting.  _Doom will show you the sort of child that he is, in time._  Loki smirked at him, sharp and unpleasant. 

“Indeed. A precocious one, of course, but nonetheless…” Loki shook his head, lips twitching with barely stifled mockery. “You cling too much to your science. Unwilling to bend as necessary. Tied to probability rather than possibility. Your lack of imagination will always hobble you.” 

“I have never felt that I lacked imagination,” Doom said. He could see the pulse beating at Loki’s throat and thought about the heart that drove it.  _Someday,_ he thought.  _Someday._ Somewhere in his guest’s wonderful blood and bone and viscera, Doom was certain, were answers to his questions. Keys to doors that remained stubbornly closed to him in spite of all his study. 

Loki laughed. “Those who lack imagination seldom do.” He stood, glancing at his bloodied hands. “Thank you, Victor. You have lifted my mood quite effectively.”

* * *

Victor fantasized about it sometimes, when Loki was drinking his wine and lounging in his chairs and mocking him with every word and condescending smile.

He imagined Loki laid out bare, a specimen for autopsy – but still living. He needed to be alive.

In Victor’s imaginings, Loki did not cry out, or struggle. He was still, compliant, releasing only a quiet sigh at the first brush of the scalpel, the first cut into unmarked virgin skin. Blood spilled red and vivid, and Victor imagined the copper-iron tang of it, wondered if the blood of gods smelled different. Loki’s eyes met his, mute in submission.

He imagined cutting deeper, delving into tender parts never touched, feeling his way toward the secret, the source of all that power. He imagined sawing open Loki’s sternum and examining his still beating heart, and all the pieces falling into an understanding so pure and clear there was nothing like it.

The fantasies, with all their vividity, made Victor’s breathing quicken and his heart race, full of a want that was like and more than lust. And then he would meet Loki’s eyes and see a gleam of something between disgust and disdain that said he knew, or suspected, the direction of Victor’s thoughts.

But he did not leave. A strange, almost erotic dance, as Loki allowed him glimpses, flashes of what he could offer. Loki sipped a glass of wine with an ironic smile and in his mind Victor held his red heart in his hands.

 _I know what you want,_ Loki’s eyes said. _I do not ever intend to give it to you._

 _We shall see,_ Victor thought, honing the scalpel of his dreams. _We shall see._

* * *

“So,” Loki asked, cutting a neat slice off his game hen and smiling faintly at Victor. “Do tell. Are you up to anything interesting these days?”

Loki seemed to be in a better mood. Victor could not say why; perhaps something to do with his mysterious errands. Perhaps he did have a lover after all, and they’d had some sort of falling out, now mended. Victor did not find that line of inquiry terribly interesting.

“I suppose that depends on what you would define as interesting,” he said. Loki set down his fork and propped his chin on his hands.

“Why don’t you tell me what _you_ would define as interesting?”

It was plainly an attempt to get Victor to talk by playing to his ego. Still, it did not seem likely to be harmful, provided he was careful about what he said. (Provided he did not mention the things growing several levels below them, already adolescents – if clones could be called such a thing.)

“Many things,” he said. “Most of them secret.”

“Even from me?” Loki asked, with an entirely transparent charming smile. Victor did not let his eyebrows twitch.

“Perhaps especially from you.” He paused. “There is one thing you might find interesting that I am willing to share.”

“Why do I suspect there is something you are going to ask in exchange?” Loki asked, eyebrows lifting, but he did not look offended. Victor considered.

“I don’t suppose your curiosity would be worth a sample of blood.”

“I am afraid not.” Loki did not sound terribly apologetic.

Victor met his eyes, levelly. “Then something else. Allow me to observe your ability to heal.” Loki’s eyes narrowed, no doubt picking at that request, searching for any danger in it. Victor let him. One of Loki’s most obvious weaknesses, he already knew, was his tendency to underestimate others. He was used to thinking of himself as the cleverest in any room at any given time. Incapable of seeing that others might equal or even surpass him.

An easy weakness to exploit, just like arrogance. Another flaw in the gemstone that was this self-proclaimed god.

“Very well,” Loki said at length. He picked up the knife he had used on the game hen, wiped it clean with a napkin, and sliced a neat, shallow line into his forearm. Victor started, his eyes widening, as Loki dropped the knife to the table and clenched his fist, speeding the drip of blood from his arm to the table. His eyes locked with Victor’s and held his gaze with a very faint, unpleasant smile.

Watching closely, he saw the faint spark of green on Loki’s skin. It took perhaps a minute for the bleeding to stop. Another thirty seconds for the cut to close entirely. Loki opened his hand and wiped the blood away to show unmarked skin, eyebrows lifting.

“Sufficient?” He asked, too mildly. _No,_ Victor wanted to say. _Do it again. Let me record it, tell me how it works, is it your magic or your biology or both, how closely are the two intertwined._

“Yes,” Victor said.

Loki made a gesture with his left hand and the blood vanished. Victor felt a brief touch of disappointment. A part of him had hoped…well. No matter. “Tell me.”

“The Avengers,” Victor said, and let himself smile, slightly self-satisfied. “I think I may have found a means of being permanently rid of them.”

Loki’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not look impressed. “Oh? Bold words, considering many have claimed as much before – and yet here they still are, as irritating as ever.”

“You should know that I do not make idle boasts,” Victor said.

“I can believe you _think_ it is not idle,” Loki said loftily. “But thinking, startlingly enough, does not make it so. I will believe it when I see Thor’s dead body.”

“Well then,” Victor said with a thin smile. “I shall be certain to bring you his head.”

Loki’s smile widened, though to Victor’s eye it also tightened. “And are you going to share this plan of yours? Perhaps I might help you iron out its shortcomings.”

“I do not collaborate,” Victor said evenly. Loki waved a hand.

“Of course not. Think of it as impressing me with your genius.”

“You are seldom impressed,” Victor said dryly. “And as you said…you will believe it when you see it. So I shall simply have to impress you with my success.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, the smile melting away. “Mm. We shall see,” he said, and stood. “Thank you for dinner, Victor von Doom. It has been…educational.” He swept away, the epitome of grace. Victor watched him go. He could see the slight stain in the wood where Loki’s blood had fallen and leaned forward.

He could only extract a few drops from the grain. Perhaps four or five. Looking at the small red globe as he guided it into a vial, Victor mused that this small amount alone would be worth far more than its weight in gold. Turning the vial back and forth, watching Loki’s blood pool in one end and then the other, Victor smiled.

* * *

Victor pounded his fist against the table, barely holding back the urge to scream. The first clone to last beyond a cluster of cells. The night before it had been healthy. Today it was dead. Now lying on his dissection table, glazed red eyes still open, where it might still give him _something_ but not what he needed.

That was a curiosity, Victor thought, trying to push down his anger and frustration. Why was it blue, and Loki himself not? He knew that Loki could change shapes – he had demonstrated as much when he had surprised Victor in his laboratory in a female body. Was this Loki’s natural state, and his usual appearance as much a disguise as the woman’s body?

Of course he could not ask. Not without revealing this little side project, and somehow he doubted Loki would be pleased with it.

Victor exhaled, and unclenched his fist. _Experiments fail. You will try again._ He still had time. And even the small quantity of Loki’s blood that he had gleaned was already proving to be a rich source of knowledge.

This was a temporary setback, no more.

Victor picked up a scalpel. Well. At the very least he would not let the body go to waste.

* * *

Loki was sipping wine over a game of strategy apparently known as _tafl_ when Victor stormed in, teeth clenched, humiliation burning in his gut. He appeared to be playing against himself, and only barely glanced up only to pause, sitting back.

“Bad day?” He said lightly. Victor felt the brief and powerful urge to lash out, to wrap a metal fist around Loki’s pale, skinny throat and squeeze. Damn the Avengers, he thought. Damn Loki and his _smug arrogance._

“Do not,” he said, voice thick with barely suppressed rage. “I am not in a temper to deal with your viper’s tongue.”

Loki pressed a hand to his heart. “My, Victor. You wound me. I ask only out of concern for your good health.” There was a faintly mocking gleam to his eyes. Victor clenched his jaw so hard it began to ache. “This would not have anything to do with what I hear was a messy and unpleasant battle in the United States, would it?”

“Be silent,” Victor snapped. Loki’s smile chilled.

“Do not give orders to me, Victor,” he said. “I am not your pet.”

 _You could be,_ Victor thought coldly. _You should be. I would leash you and keep you chained at my side, tamed and muzzled. My pet god._ He forced himself to calm. “Forgive me,” he said, at length. “I spoke thoughtlessly.”

“So you did,” Loki agreed. “An unwise thing to do, in my company.”

Victor did not bow his head, but he tried to make his voice contrite. “A mistake I will not make again.” Loki eyed him, nostrils flaring once, but after a long moment sat back, apparently satisfied. Victor was reminded of nothing so much as a tiger relaxing from a crouch to lie once more at ease, though still with tail twitching. “I will leave you to your game,” he said stiffly.

“I take it you do not wish to speak of your…mishap?” Loki said. His lips did not quite twitch.

“No,” Victor said flatly. “I do not.” He turned for the stairs without further word, ascending to his study.

It should have worked, he thought, fuming. He had planned meticulously. Set everything perfectly in place. And yet the Avengers had anticipated him, outplayed him, and even that nuisance Stark…it was as though they had _known._

Victor paused. He looked toward the door. As though someone had informed them.

But why, Victor asked himself. What possible motivation could Loki have to help his enemies against Victor, who had sheltered him, _helped_ him? It could just be the pleasure of the chaos itself – but that did not feel quite right. No, there was something he was missing.

Or else he was wrong, and the Avengers had simply been lucky, as they were so often lucky – but Victor’s instincts said otherwise. And only one person had known of his plan.

Perhaps it was his brother, Victor thought. Perhaps Loki did not hate him as much as he professed.

 _Ah, Loki,_ Victor thought, pouring himself a small measure of brandy. _If you betrayed me, as I suspect you have…_ The anger ebbed away, excitement rising in its place.

He would need proof first, though. A von Doom did not break his word lightly. But if he was right…

Victor took a shuddering inhale, his heart beating a little faster. If he was right, then Loki was his. No more games, no more having to tolerate his arrogance and disdain. No more holding back, accepting scraps of information at a time. He almost shivered.

He would need to accelerate his preparations.

Victor went to the window and looked out on Latveria, already half imagining how he would begin.

* * *

Victor began watching Loki’s comings and goings more closely, trying to determine a pattern. It was possible, of course, that his approaching the Avengers was a singular occurrence, but Victor doubted it. Loki was not so foolish as to betray him lightly. It occurred to Victor briefly that Loki might have been placed as a spy, that he might have been on the Avengers’ leash all along…but that seemed improbable.

He listened more closely to the whispers of the criminal underground he generally chose to ignore. Sent out feelers, requesting information on Loki and his activities.

He increased the pace of work in his special facility, buying vibranium – a little at a time, so as not to raise suspicions – and forging it into the instruments he would need.

His first glimpse of the table made Victor’s heart pound. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining Loki lying nude and immaculate on its surface. Or better: imagining Loki peeled open, neat as an anatomical diagram. He imagined watching Loki’s heart beat and lungs work, imagined running his fingers along his naked ribs; peeling gloves away so Victor could feel the texture of a god’s bones on his skin.

He shuddered, and forced his eyes open. _Patience._

* * *

“You work too much,” Loki said. He had been in a fairly good humor of late, which made him more irritating. “I do hope I am not the first to tell you so.”

“I enjoy my work,” Victor said.

“Evidently,” Loki said, something to the curve of his lips that made Victor want to snarl. “But there is such a thing as overindulging. What project is it that is occupying so much of your time these days?”

“What occupies yours?” Victor parried. Loki smiled, perfectly mysterious.

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“How odd,” Victor said dryly. “My project is the very same.”

Loki laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “Ah, Victor. It is ever so much fun playing with you.”

“I do not like being played with,” he said. “As I think you know.”

“Oh, come,” Loki said, smiling. “Be sporting. Clever minds are so rare in this world; it is always a pleasure to find one.”

Transparent flattery, and yet a part of Victor still glowed with pleasure at it. Victor might not think much of gods, but he was not entirely immune to Loki’s particular brand of charm. “You are too kind,” he said dryly. Loki smiled at him, lazy and self-satisfied.

“Of course I am,” he said. “I strive always to be gracious.”

If he removed those smiling teeth, Victor wondered, would they grow back?

* * *

His proof came from an unexpected place.

A suspicious credit charge, of all things – a small flag in one of his accounts that happened to catch Victor’s eye. It was not unusual, of course, for Loki to appropriate Victor’s funds – he let it pass, not particularly concerned with his material wealth. And that was undoubtedly what this particular charge was – a restaurant in New York City, _very_ upscale, only accepted select clientele.

Not such an odd thing, on the face of it. Loki had almost…obscenely luxuriant taste.

All the same, something caught his notice. He did a bit of looking, asked a few careful questions in the right ears, and found that Loki had made a request in the name of a prominent Senator for dinner for two.

Victor’s eyebrows rose. Perhaps he’d been wrong about Loki lowering himself to take a mortal lover. Intrigued, he dug a little further. It was not easy – no small part of their business was based on discretion – but Loki was not the only one with a gift for persuasion.

Captain America, his source informed him. The guest you are seeking information on attended dinner with Steve Rogers, aka Captain America.

Victor was stunned. And then angry, and insulted, and then all of it passed and he thought _I have you now. You foolish, arrogant creature._ A part of him wondered whether Loki had bedded Captain Rogers. Most of him did not care.

He had his proof that Loki was colluding with the Avengers. He had the facility in which to contain him while Victor did his research. Now it was simply a matter of perfecting the formula, and finding the perfect moment.

He felt like the hunter watching his quarry stumble and falter, his heart racing. He opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a small vial. Loki’s blood, held in suspension with just a touch of magic.

Soon, he thought, this would be like nothing. He would have as much of that precious resource as he could draw.

_My time has come._

* * *

Loki blinked into existence in the dining room, color high in his cheeks, hair mussed, and plainly aroused. Victor blinked exactly once while Loki stared at nothing in evident frustration before realizing that he was not alone.

“Ah,” he said, with admirable poise considering his state. “Victor.”

“Disappointing tryst?” Victor asked dryly. Loki’s lips curled like he wanted to snarl and forced himself to refrain.

“Interrupted,” he said tightly. “If you will excuse me.” He turned and swept out of the room, grace only a little marred.

Victor followed him, after perhaps a minute; made his way to the door of the room Loki had appropriated for his own. He paused outside it, listening.

 _What do you think you will hear,_ he asked himself almost scornfully. _A name?_

Loki’s voice, through the door: a sharp, breathless, _ah!_ A low moan. Victor imagined Loki stroking himself, back arched, and felt just the vaguest stirring in his loins – mostly at the knowledge that he was hearing Loki so very vulnerable.

The formula was ready, he thought. He could fill a syringe with it, slip through this door and slide the needle into Loki’s neck even as he lurched toward orgasm.

No. He wanted Loki to see him and know that he’d been caught. Been beaten. He wanted to see Loki’s face when he realized that he’d walked open-eyed into the snare. He wanted Loki to have to be aware that he’d lost.

Loki cried out again, and the brief excitement faded away. He sounded pathetic, Victor thought. Lustful and wanton, like any common human driven by uncontrolled base instincts. He was almost disappointed.

Almost. A part of him still felt that tug in his lower belly, not quite lust. A desire to observe. Maybe even to touch.

The sound of Loki’s cries came in rhythm now ( _ah! ah! ahhh-)_ and Victor walked away before any more unfortunate thoughts could worm their way into his brain, or threaten his self-control.

* * *

Victor laid out the meal with care, everything perfectly placed. He poured the wine, not letting a single drop escape, and set the bottle aside. By the time Loki arrived – seven minutes later than Victor had asked him to come – all was ready.

“How very fine,” Loki said, and for once his vague disdain did not touch Victor. Could not touch him.

“I am glad you think so,” he said, and sat. “Roast pork,” he informed Loki. “I am told Latverian swine is some of the finest.”

“I imagine you are told most things Latverian are some of the finest,” Loki said, lips quirking, but he sat down. Victor kept himself relaxed, not watching too closely even as Loki swirled the wine and took a sip. It seemed to meet with his approval, for he took another. “I suppose I will grant that your vintage is not _in_ ferior.”

“Ever gracious,” Victor said dryly. Loki smirked at him.

“It _is_ a princely virtue.”

“And you are full of those.” Victor let himself smile. Loki cocked his head to the side.

“You are in an unusually pleasant mood,” he said.

“It has been known to happen.” Victor noted the level of wine in Loki’s glass, already half empty. “Things have begun to improve for me, of late.”

“I am delighted to hear it,” Loki murmured. _Oh, I am sure you are,_ Victor thought. He looked at Loki’s hands as he cut a slice off the roast, imagining mapping the tendons, the delicate structures that governed those slender fingers.

Victor dragged the dinner out, watching Loki refill his wine glass twice before moving them out to the living room. He could see Loki’s eyes beginning to glaze, and wondered when he would become aware of it – when he would recognize the effects.

Midway through his fourth, Loki stopped. He blinked once, hard, cutting off midsentence. Victor watched the glass slip from his fingers to the carpet with utter dispassion, hoping that he had not miscalculated the dose.

“Vic-tor,” Loki said, his voice slurring. Victor stood, slowly, lazily; bent to pick up the empty glass and set it on the table. Loki’s head lolled back and his fingers sparked green. Victor tensed, but the sparks faded without any result. “You – _poisoned_ – me?”

“Did you truly think,” Victor said, stepping toward Loki and standing over him, “that you could betray me, Loki, and I would not notice?”

Loki swallowed convulsively, several times. “Yes?” He said, lips turning slightly up toward a smirk.

Anger flared in Victor’s skull, and he lashed out. He had never struck Loki before. It was – decidedly satisfying. Loki’s head snapped to the side, laboring to hold it up, his eyes dragging closed.

“I am going – to kill you,” Loki said. “I swear it-”

His eyes closed, muscles going slack. Victor waited a moment before letting himself smile. He removed his gauntlet, reached out and wiped a few drops of blood off Loki’s split lip with his thumb. He remembered Loki’s words: _a few drops of god’s ichor on your tongue._

He sucked his thumb clean. Victor could have sworn he felt the tingle of power on his tongue, a momentary feeling like he was on the verge of glimpsing something incredible – and then it was gone.

“Come,” Victor said to Loki’s limp body. “We have work to do, you and I.”

* * *

Victor hummed while he worked. A neat workspace was vital to begin with, and that this one had been waiting for some time did not mean he was not going to check every detail. It occurred to him that he was like a bride obsessively examining the plans for a wedding, and the comparison made him smile.

At last, instruments sanitized and neatly laid out, he looked toward his prize. Just like Victor’s imaginings, but better for its vivid reality. Loki’s skin so pale it was nearly translucent, almost perfect, entirely unmarked. The idea of being the first to lay claim to that territory was intoxicating. He reached out, laying his hand where he could feel Loki’s heart beating, palm flat against his cool flesh. Strong and steady. Good.

His anger at Loki’s betrayal was forgotten. His desire for vengeance faded into the background. Those were small thoughts. _Unimaginative,_ as Loki would say.

No. There was satisfaction, of course, in bringing a god low. There would be more in taking him apart and knowing that he was helpless, and how that would _rankle_ Loki’s precious pride. But satisfaction was such a petty thing, and Victor was not petty.

There were so many things Loki could teach him.

 _You are mine now,_ he thought. His prize, at his fingertips.

Victor took a deep breath to calm himself, and still his shaking hands. “Now,” he said softly to Loki’s quiescent form. “Let’s begin.”


End file.
